The End of Albion
by Phoenix Moon 13
Summary: Set in the years after the end of series 3, Merlin watches his good work crumble, makes some hard choices and knows in his heart that he is partly to blame. G/A, G/L OC Warning.
1. The Girl at the Gate

_**The End of Albion  
**_**Chapter One: The Girl at the Gate**

* * *

Author's Note: I originally posted this fic last year, very early in series 4, before Lancelot's story took the twist it did. So I've decided to rework it, setting it before series 4 instead, taking the more traditional Arthurian route.

* * *

Imogen is an OC, but she is not entirely my creation – she is an amalgam of the other women of legend, mainly influenced by Nimue who Merlin fell in love with (but as you know, that name was taken).

Sir Leon found her, slumped at the gates of Camelot, her nails shredded where she had attempted to pull herself upright using the stone walls as support. Her shoes had worn into bloodied holes, her dress hung from her body and she had the hollow-cheeked look of someone who had gone days without food. Her eyes fluttered as he picked her up and she struggled weakly in his arms.

"It's all right," he said as she continued to stir restlessly, pushing her fists against his chest. "I've got you. You're safe. You're in Camelot."

She stilled and forced her eyes open. He saw her mouth form the word "Camelot," her lips cracking and bleeding with the effort. Leon tightened his hold on her so that he could speed up. He shouldered open the door to Gaius's chambers and was halfway across the room before he realised that both Gaius and Merlin were eating. Gaius dropped his spoon back into the bowl of stew and gestured Leon to place the girl on the bed in the corner. Merlin stared, gravy dribbling down his chin, before he wiped his mouth and got up to gather blankets.

"I'm sorry to disturb your meal," Leon said, hovering at Gaius's shoulder. "But I found her at the gates. She must have been walking for days."

Gaius nodded, but didn't look at him; he had pulled up the girl's eyelids and was staring into them.

"A light broth, Merlin," he said. "And plenty of water to drink. And I'll need a separate bowl to clean her feet and check for debris."

He eased past Leon and after a moment glanced up and smiled kindly at the knight in dismissal. "Thank you, Sir Leon. We'll take care of her."

Leon backed out of the room, watching as the door swung shut, as Gaius settled on a stool at her feet to clean her wounds. He did not see Merlin sit at her side, ready to hand Gaius bandages, nor did he see the girl's dry little hand find Merlin's as she rasped, "_Emrys_."

* * *

She was called Imogen, an orphan who had grown up on the Isle of the Blessed, cast out when she was considered unsuitable for training. Gaius had been forced to cut the thick tangle of her hair so that all she was left with was a soft dark fuzz that made her face seemed thinner, her grey eyes larger. She was shy to the point of mute and moved about the castle with the silence of a mouse, unseen and unnoticed except perhaps by Sir Leon, which was how she preferred it.

With Merlin and Gaius she was comfortable. As Merlin focused on his duties as servant to the King, she took over as Gaius's assistant, grinding herbs, making deliveries and keeping the place tidy for him. She had a knack for healing that Gaius encouraged.

That there was someone else who knew his secret was a delight for Merlin, who, with finger on his lips, would light the fire with a click of his fingers or set another knife dancing over her vegetables just for the pleasure of seeing her smile.

She was sat by the fire, sewing, when Merlin came in one evening, the shadows filling the hollows of her cheek and the firelight turning her hair golden. He paused in the doorway and leaned back against the door, listening to the shift and crackle of the logs, the occasional snap of thread as she broke it with her teeth.

"Merlin?" she said and he opened her eyes to see her peering around her chair at him. She stood up, her needlework sliding to the floor, and came towards him. "What's wrong, Merlin?"

He sank into the chair opposite hers and she knelt before him, her hands pressed on his bony knees. She longed to reach out and cup his face in her palm, but she didn't dare. He ran his hands over his face and sank back. Her eyes gleamed like polished pewter, but she didn't say anything.

"I've seen Kilgharrah."

She sank back on her heels, her hands still on his knees and waited for him to continue. When he did not, she asked tentatively, "What has he told you?"

"That Arthur cannot marry Gwen."

Finally she lowered her gaze. Her hair was growing so that now her head was covered in tiny curls that curved around her ears and tumbled across her forehead. He frowned as she looked into the fire.

"Oh."

"You knew?" he asked.

"There was… talk… On the Isle. As there was of Emrys and Albion."

"What talk?"

When she didn't respond he leaned forward and grasped her wrist.

"Please, Imogen. I need to know. What talk?"

"That… That Albion would be destroyed by a woman." When she looked at him, her expression was fierce and it seemed to sharpen her features. "That is what the men said. That women cannot be trusted. That no man can rely on the love of a woman. But _that_ is nonsense."

She sounded so bitter that he took her hand in both of his and squeezed. For a moment an expression, almost like fear, flickered across her face and she bit her lower lip. Silence fell between them, but for the crackle of the fire and the space between them seemed to shrink and thicken.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered and with a shiver, as though he had been released, Merlin sank back into the chair.

"_He will love her blindly,"_ Kilgharrah had said. "_And he will lose everything."_

"I don't know."

Her hand twitched in his and he frowned at her.

"You think I should tell him?"

"Do you think that Gwen loves him?"

"Yes, but…"

"Do you think she is capable of betrayal?"

He opened his mouth to deny it. Gwen didn't have a traitorous bone in her body, she was no Morgana. But, before he could answer, an image blossomed in his mind of Gwen and Lancelot. That Gwen loved Arthur he did not doubt, but that she had loved another, as Arthur had not… That was something Merlin also did not doubt.

"Merlin? Do you?"

She had her needlework twisted in her hands and he reached out impulsively to stroke her cheek.

"No. I don't think that she is."


	2. Handfasting

_**The End of Albion  
**_**Chapter Two: Handfasting**

"And so, once again you've decided not to listen to me?"

Merlin could tell by the tone of voice that Kilgharrah was not impressed. But even if the dragon had remained silent, he would have known. Kilgharrah radiated disapproval, from his pursed lips to his narrowed eyes and the irritable shift of his wings.

"I told you to let the Druid boy die," Kilgharrah went on. "And you let him live. I told you not to trust the witch and you did. I tell you that the servant girl must not marry Arthur and yet the bells of Camelot have been ringing all day to celebrate the wedding tomorrow. Tell me, Merlin, what is the point of my telling you _anything_?"

"I couldn't tell Arthur not to marry her!" Merlin said in exasperation. "He loves her. And she's my friend. She's the best woman I know. Camelot would be proud to have her as Queen."

"You have been listening to the girl," Kilgharrah gave him a shrewd look. "You have been listening to her romantic nonsense."

"What do you know of Imogen?"

Kilgharrah tilted his great head and studied Merlin, as though weighing up what to tell him.

"I know that if you are to be Morgana's doom, the healer is to be yours."

The great dragon began to back away and Merlin knew that he was going to leave, leaving that poison to burn in Merlin's mind. He darted forward, back into Kilgharrah's eye line.

"What do you mean?" he called. "Imogen wouldn't hurt me."

"I didn't say she'd _want_ to," the dragon stretched his wings and looked up at the sky, but Merlin caught the look of satisfaction on his face and knew that he took pleasure in his predictions.

"I don't believe you. Imogen has told me – destiny can change in a moment. Nothing is certain."

"Not everything is certain," Kilgharrah replied, with the air of someone correcting a simple mistake. "Some things, however, are written in stone."

"Then it wouldn't matter if I told Arthur! If some things are meant to happen, my interference wouldn't prevent it!"

"It has never stopped you before."

Merlin felt his cheeks flare and he glowered at the ground beneath Kilgharrah's feet. He heard the taut leathery tug of Kilgharrah extending his wings and felt the draught as the dragon began to beat them.

"Enjoy the wedding, Merlin," was his parting shot, as he launched himself into the air.

* * *

Imogen stood by Merlin and Gaius, in a new dress of pale blue silk. Gwen had given her the fabric and as she passed them as she walked down the aisle, she smiled at the three of them. On the opposite side of the aisle, Leon caught Imogen's eye and grinned. She put a hand up to her hair, embarrassed by its shortness. Merlin noticed the exchange and smiled to himself.

"… I now pronounce you – husband and wife."

Geoffrey of Monmouth led the applause, before Arthur turned to take the crown from the cushion held by a page. The silence that felt was more rapt than throughout the wedding as he raised it up and declared his wife, Guinevere, Queen of Camelot.

The bells rang out once more and Imogen clapped furiously, turning to grin at Merlin. As their eyes met, a shiver of foreboding passed between them and their smiles slipped from their faces. As he looked at her hands, which had slowed to a vague tap, he felt something almost like fear.

* * *

Sir Leon had been waiting for an opportunity and it came as Imogen squeezed past Gwaine to get to where Gaius and Merlin were sitting in a corner of the hall.

"Forgive me, my lady," Gwaine said, bowing gallantly and stepping back out of her way with a cheeky grin.

She smiled slightly, amused, but her cheeks lit up, making Gwaine chortle.

"Ignore him," Leon said as she drew level with him. "He flirts with everyone." Embarrassment came like a kick in the stomach as he stumbled to amend his statement. "I mean, not that you're not… He's just…" he sighed. "Forgive me."

She laughed and he grinned because she didn't laugh easily.

"Dance with me?" he asked, extending his hand and indicating the floor, which teemed with couples.

She glanced at the other knights, who were pretending not to eavesdrop, smirks hidden in their goblets. He saw her anticipate the catcalls and cheers if she allowed him to lead her out on the floor, saw her hesitate. Then, her resolve firming, she placed her hand in his and followed him into the press of people.

Deaf to the cheers of his fellows, Sir Leon was not blind to the direction of her gaze, which lingered all too often on Merlin.


	3. The Great Divide

_**The End of Albion  
**_**Chapter Three: The Great Divide**

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter is set about 25 years after the end of series three and Arthur now knows about Merlin's powers.

* * *

"You understand? He is no longer one of us. He is no longer a fellow knight, a – friend," Arthur gripped the table as he spoke. "From this moment on Sir Lancelot du Lac is an enemy of Camelot."

There was a murmur of assent and Merlin, from his position behind Arthur's chair saw Percival and Gwaine swap looks. Leon was gazing fixedly at the tabletop and Elyan could only nod his agreement.

"Good. Go and prepare."

Arthur dismissed them with a wave of his hand and the knights thrust their chairs back from the Round Table. He watched them go and sighed as the door closed behind them.

"We lay siege to his lands," Arthur said quietly. "There was a time when Lancelot and I were friends, we fought side-by-side and now… _Why_ did she do it, Merlin?"

There was an edge of despair in his voice that made Merlin to clench his jaw and look away. Arthur had always been strong, he had always known what was right and if he didn't, then Merlin did. Between them they had always done the right thing. But Arthur's lips trembled slightly and looked so vulnerable inside that shaggy blonde beard and though Merlin had always known it, he couldn't bear to see that Arthur was just a man and was as prone as any to heartbreak.

"I don't know, sire."

Arthur gave him an exasperated look that was so familiar Merlin felt his lips twitch up in a way they hadn't since Gwen had mounted that horse behind Lancelot and fled Camelot.

"Sire? Merlin, please."

"I don't know," Merlin shrugged and slid into a seat at Arthur's right hand. "I don't know why she did it. But the penalties for adultery, particularly that of a Queen…"

Merlin's eyes slid away and he studied the table top. He looked up when he heard Arthur swallow hard. Arthur stared at him, face suddenly grey.

"I would never – you of all people, Merlin, know that I would - _could_ never hurt her. I would have forgiven her, to hell with my reputation."

"I know. But you were furious when you found out. She was frightened."

Arthur's lips set in a grim line and his hands clenched convulsively on the table.

"My wife and one of my closest friends – how would you have felt?"

Merlin didn't answer. His shoulders slumped and he pushed his hand through his hair. Arthur didn't look at him; he was staring in the opposite direction, at the crest on the wall. The golden dragon of the Pendragons' in the top right corner of the left, a blacksmith's anvil in the bottom left.

"What did I fail to give her, Merlin?" he asked and there was a slight break in his voice that made Merlin frightened to look at him. "I promised I would marry her and I did. I made her Queen; she had everything she could ask for."

Finally Merlin met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. Defeated, Arthur sank back.

"She begged me, you know. To use magic so that we might have a child. But how could I? Knowing that that killed my mother, knowing that it may have meant her life, how could I ask you to do it? Was that what started it all, not having children?"

Merlin shook his head and Arthur ran his hand over his face. His eyes had sunken in tiredness, the bags beneath them larger than Merlin had ever seen. He suspected that it wasn't just strategy that had kept Arthur awake these last few nights.

"I still loved her. Children or no children, heir or no heir. I loved _her_."

"I know that," Merlin answered quietly and almost reached out to touch his arm, but thought better of it. "And she knew it too. She once told me she was most loved Queen in all the land."

Arthur smiled slightly at that and touched his beard again. He had grown it to look more kingly. He had had it twenty years and still didn't seem used to it. The two old friends sat in silence and distantly they could hear the movement of knights preparing for battle.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur asked after a moment, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me it would come to this?"

"Would it have mattered if I had, Arthur?" Merlin asked, leaning across the table, his voice suddenly urgent. "Would you have chosen Camelot over Gwen?"

Slowly Arthur's hands slid from his eyes and he turned his head slowly to look at Merlin. The lines in his face had filled with shadows.

"_He will love her blindly. And he will lose everything."_

"She is the one thing that I would have chosen above everything. Including Camelot."

* * *

Lancelot hesitated at Gwen's door, his hand on the handle. With a slight sigh he raised his hand and knocked once, waiting for her to call him. She was sitting at the dressing table, staring into the mirror and turned immediately as he came in.

"What news?" she asked, her fingers clenching on the arm of the chair. "What news of Arthur?"

His lips twitched, but she appeared not to notice his discomfort.

"He has gone back to Camelot."

Something like disappointment flickered across her face and her posture slumped. She turned slowly away from him, her hands gripping the dressing table. He watched her shoulders tremble, then stiffen.

"Mordred has taken Camelot," he added hastily, seeing her pain, her disappointment. Despite everything, it was his instinct to comfort her if he could. "That is why Arthur returns."

"Mordred?" In the mirror, he saw the colour drain from her face. She caught his eye in the reflection and he couldn't hide the guilty expression on his face. She knew that this was partly their fault and buried her face in her hands. "Lancelot, what have we done?"

He ran his hand over her hair, so gently that she didn't feel it, but when he placed his hand on her shoulder, he felt her twitch away from him and drew his hand back.

"I ride for Camelot immediately," he said, already headed to the door. "I will speak to Arthur for you while I am there."

"No," she rose from her seat so quickly that he stared. "You cannot return to Camelot."

"Gwen, Mordred has taken the castle, Arthur will need all the help he can get to take it back."

"He'll do it," Gwen said and in that certainty, Lancelot knew he had lost whatever fragile hold he may have had on her. "But you mustn't go to Camelot, Lancelot. He won't want to see you and if he has to face Mordred, he needs to concentrate on that. You'll only distract him." She came across the room and took his hand. "Please. Don't go back."

"But what about you?" he asked, turning his hand in hers so that he could press his palm to hers. "I must speak to Arthur on your behalf."

She tugged her hands free of his and shook her head, moving across the room to gaze out of the window. Only hours before, Arthur and his knights had spread across the valley beneath them, the whole force of Camelot ranged out to defend the reputation of their King. Perhaps even, she had secretly hoped, to whisk her away from Lancelot and back home, to Camelot.

"It's too late for that."

"What do you mean? He'll forgive you, I know he will. I'll explain to him. He – loves you, Gwen."

She closed her eyes and leaned against window frame, trying not to think about the catch in Lancelot's voice. Two of the greatest knights that had ever lived and she had destroyed them both without even trying. And Lancelot was right - she knew, as firmly as she had known he would marry her, that Arthur would take her back, that he would wrap his arms around her and say that she was forgiven. She hated herself for wanting that, for wanting him to make it better.

"He would forgive me and that would be the end of him. No one would respect him again. I can't do that to him, I've done enough. And I am not - _strong_ enough."

"Strong enough? For what?"

"To face him. To know that he might look at me with something other than love in his eyes. I cannot face that. I'm a coward, Lancelot."

"You are the bravest woman, I know," he replied fiercely. "You have faced so much in your life, from dragons to the wrath of King Uther. You are no coward."

She shook her head, a sad little smile on her face.

"Then what are we to do?" his voice was tight with tension and he tried very hard not to snap. "I cannot help him and you refuse to return to him. What will you do instead?"

"There's a convent, not far from here. I used to send food there when the winters were bad. I'll go there," she forced a smile. "It is very - peaceful there."

"Peaceful?" Lancelot repeated weakly, sinking down onto the bed. "You have been planning this all along, haven't you? Oh, Gwen, what have I done?"

She came over to him swiftly, sank to her knees before him.

"You loved me," she said softly. "That is all you have ever done. And I have taken advantage -"

"No…"

"_Yes_. It would have been better if you had stayed with Elaine and Galahad."

"I loved _you_."

"And I loved you. Once. But I married Arthur. I love Arthur. He loved me, that should have been enough."

"Then go back to him, be happy, please."

She pulled away and straightened up, went to the drawers where her few things were tidied away. She began to pull them out, folding them automatically, frowning.

"Too late. I'll leave this evening," she hesitated, fabric sliding through her fingers. "I hope that – I hope that I'll be able to hear what becomes of Arthur."

"I will bring you news. I will see you safely to the convent."

She smiled once more. He thought it so strange that once he had lived for her smiles, had spent so much time at court hoping to glimpse one and now, he would do anything to stop her smiling at him like that. She reached out and gave his hand what he knew was a final squeeze.

"No. Thank you, but no. Goodbye, Sir Lancelot."


	4. Merlin's Rock

_**The End of Albion  
**_**Chapter Four: Merlin's Rock**

"You cannot ask this of me."

They stood on a plain high above Caerleon's lands. In the distance they could see the smoke winding up from Camelot into the clear sky. Soon it would be dark. Merlin slumped, exhausted, against the rock behind him. He, like Arthur, had barely slept in days but he did not have a knight's constitution. He could feel his magic fraying out through his fingers; he hadn't felt his powerless since the Daroka.

"Imogen…"

"No, Merlin," she said sharply, tugging her windswept cloak more tightly about her. "I won't do it. You are not making any sense."

Grief, sharp as a knife point, had drawn her lips into a pinched line. Earlier that day she had failed to save the life of Gwaine. His blood was still gathered beneath her fingernails. She hadn't yet cried.

Her hair, streaked with grey, tossed on the wind and tangled together. He thought suddenly of the girl Leon brought to them that night. So skinny, with a mass of dark hair so tangled Gaius had had to cut it all off so that she spent the first few months with them as shorn as a sheep and almost as silent. She had chosen to walk all the way from the Isle of the Blessed to Camelot, simply to warn Emrys that the Lady Morgana sought to kill him.

Kilgharrah had called Imogen his doom - he had not said that Merlin would be the one that would ask it of her.

"He is the Once and Future King."

She made a sound of disgust and turned from him, to gaze in the direction of Camelot.

"Do you blame me for this, Merlin?"

"You? Why would I blame you?"

"I convinced you not to tell Arthur what Kilgharrah said about Gwen."

"I chose not to tell him," he shook his head. "Even now, I'm not sure that was the wrong choice."

His lips had tightened into a thin white line and she knew he was thinking of that night, all those years ago, when Kilgharrah had told him that it would all come to this. She thought of his knees, so bony beneath her palms, of her desperate need for him not to echo the nonsense of the Priests, for him to accept that a woman could be faithful. She knew now – perhaps she had known it even then – that her desperation had little to do with Arthur and Guinevere.

"Mordred has the kingdom in a stranglehold," she said urgently, turning back to grip his arm and shake him. "You _must_ help Arthur."

"It's too late. Albion is lost."

"Are you such an old man that you are so ready to give up?" she let go of him as though burnt. "Well I am _not_ ready to give up," she stated when he did not answer her. "I'm going back, to do what I can. Useless as it may be."

She turned away to stalk back down to the battlefield.

"Arthur will stop Mordred -" Merlin caught her by the elbow and drew her to a halt.

"Then why -"

"But Mordred will kill him."

She tugged her arm free and stared up at him, shaking her head vehemently.

"How can you know this?" Merlin smiled at her irritation and raised his eyes to the heavens. "Oh. The dragon told you,"

"Yes. But he will return, Imogen. If you will take him to the Isle of the Blessed and heal him, one day Arthur will come back and I must be here, waiting from him."

"Take him to the Isle?" she repeated, mystified. "But that is lost. And I can do nothing compared to what you can do!"

"Nothing is so lost that it cannot be found. You are a greater healer than I am. And -" he hesitated and dropped his gaze. "And Morgana will help you."

"Morgana is…" she paused, the word _dead_ refusing to leave her mouth. "We cannot trust Morgana."

"She is his sister. And you trust me, don't you?"

She pretended he had not asked such a foolish question.

"Merlin, come with us. I cannot do such a thing on my own. I'd need you, now that Gaius is gone..."

"That's not my place. I see it all so clearly now – all this time I thought that Albion would last a thousand years – longer, even. But that was never what was supposed to happen," he gripped her shoulders hard, an almost fanatical light in his eyes. "It was supposed to flare brightly, for a short time. To light something in men's hearts that they might know and strive for better."

"To what purpose?" she asked, utterly mystified.

"That one day it might come again and _last_ this time. Arthur will return – the _Once and Future King_. Imogen, you are the only one that can do this. I have taught you everything I know."

She stepped back, though her instinct, whenever he touched her, was to step into his arms. But he had never reached for her like that. She had spent years burning with jealousy over a woman long dead, a name idly dropped one day, with such longing in his voice that Imogen did not need to ask for details.

Seeing her cringe back from him, he reached out for her. His long white fingers spread apart, waiting for her to fill the spaces in between. She had fallen in love with him fingers first. She remembered that dark night in the forest when she saw those fingers caress the head of a tiny white dragon, how she had desperately wanted those fingers to touch her the same way. Twenty five years later and the yearning had not left her, though his slimness was beginning to look a little haggard and his coal black hair had almost all faded to iron grey.

She took his hand because she was a fool and could never refuse him.

"I would not ask this of you if there was anyone else," he said softly. "But _you_ must heal Arthur, when the time comes. And I must wait for him."

She knew it was the end, she felt it as certainly as though it were a death knell tolling inside her. This certainty made her reckless and she tiptoed and pressed her lips on his. She felt his surprise in the sudden loosening of his fingers on hers, his mouth still beneath her lips. She was about to pull away in embarrassment when his arms slid about her waist and tugged her forward, a hand tangling in her hair as he teased her mouth open with his tongue.

She only realised she was crying when he ran his thumbs over her damp cheeks and pulled away long enough to whisper, "_Please_."

Imogen clutched him close, shaking her head as well as she could without relinquishing his lips. She stubbornly ran her hands into his hair, but he reached up and pressed them down to his chest. He pulled away once more and almost begged her:

"Please. Imogen, please."

Her lips were still on his as she said the spell, the words bubbling from her lips as they grazed against his. She pushed hard against his thin chest – so thin, even after all these years – and felt him sink away into the stone, her lips finally meeting cold, hard rock.

And then he was gone and she pressed tightly against the face of the rock, hiccupping wildly. She slithered to the floor and her nails crumbled as she scrabbled at the surface. She chanted his name, her wails whipped away by the wind.

"Merlin. Merlin. _Emrys_."


	5. The Isle of the Blessed

_**The End of Albion  
**_**Chapter Five: The Isle of the Blessed**

It was dark when she knew the battle was over. The stone face of the rock was rough against her cheek and as she pressed her lips to it for the last time she thought she heard her name, whispered on the breeze.

_Imogen..._

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She felt a long way away from the grief and the horror as she staggered to her feet, her legs numb and slowly fizzing back to life. She turned away from that place, knowing she would never return and began to stride down the hill. Soon she was running, her cloak whipping on the air behind her, snapping like wolves at her heels.

She reached Caerleon's lands and came to a halt so violent that she tripped. When she looked down she gagged and turned away from the sight of the body at her feet.

In the distance she could hear wailing and she moved towards it. There was Percival, his King clutched in his arms and beside him – her heart rushed up through her throat – her old friend, Leon.

"Imogen," Leon cried and stumbled towards her. In relief, he cupped her face without thinking of the propriety. "You're alive. Oh thank God, you're alive."

"Where are the others?"

Leon glanced at Percival, who was staring, shell-shocked, through the trees in the direction of the Lake. Imogen followed his gaze and frowned in question at Leon.

"Arthur made him take Excalibur to the Lake," he whispered. "He asked him to throw it in, but Percival wouldn't. Arthur was furious and when Percival finally did as he was told, he said there was an arm. A woman's arm, which caught it. When Percival told him that, it was like he just… gave up. The others…. Imogen, there are no others."

She pushed past Leon and sank to her knees before King Arthur. His helmet was still on, disguising the worst of his injuries, but his visor was up and the blood was trickling freely down his face. She leaned close over his mouth.

"There is life yet," she said firmly. "But he will be dead within the hour."

"Imogen, please," Leon said. "If anyone can save him, Merlin can."

"There is nothing he can do," she said with a sad crack in her voice, rising to her feet. "Arthur must go to the Isle of the Blessed. Percival, can you get him to the Lake?"

"Yes," Percival stood up and scooped Arthur tenderly in his arms. He looked down at the battered body of his King and friend. "Can – can he be saved, Imogen?"

"I will do my best."

Percival nodded and, tightening his grip on the King, set off through the trees to the Lake. Imogen hitched up her skirt and went to follow him.

"Where is Merlin?" Leon asked, darting after her and hissing in pain.

She stopped, sized him up with a quick shrewd look, then, her face finally softening into something close to her youthful sweet smile, offered him her arm. He hesitated before leaning his weight gingerly against her.

"He's gone away. He said that one day Arthur will return, so he has gone on to wait for him."

"He is dead?" Leon swayed slightly and she put an arm about his waist and bent beneath his weight.

"No," her chin jutted stubbornly. "He is waiting. I go with Arthur."

They reached the Lake; Percival was already on the little dock, Arthur still in his arms. The water lapped gently at Leon's toes and they could all hear the distant slap of oars.

"Someone is coming," Percival said. "But from where?"

"The Isle of the Blessed," Imogen said, as she eyed Leon's injuries. She knelt down to examine the wound on his right knee. "I thought it was lost forever, but Merlin knew better." She straightened up and from the depths of her cloak pocket pulled out a little linen bag which she closed into Leon's hand. "Comfrey. Warm it and place it on the wound, it will help with the pain and the healing."

He caught her eye as he touched the tips of her fingers, but she shrank away and climbed onto the dock beside Percival.

"Who is that in the boat?" Leon asked, for the boat has drawn nearer out of the mist and a tall figure in the prow could be discerned.

"The woman who caught Excalibur?" Percival suggested.

The boat bumped against the little dock and the cloaked figure pushed back her hood. She was greeted with the rasp of an unsheathed sword, but the Lady Morgana was unfazed as she stepped out of the boat.

"Oh Arthur," she sighed and reached out to him, laying a hand against his cheek. He stirred ever so slightly, as though he recognised the voice, a hiss of breath escaping his mouth and coiling into Guinevere's name. "What have you been up to this time?" She looked up at Imogen. "You are coming with us?"

"Yes. I will follow on," she glanced past Morgana to the ferryman who nodded.

"And Emrys?"

Imogen shook her head imperceptibly and Morgana looked away, lip nipped between her teeth.

"You are not taking him," Leon growled, his sword quivering in his hand. Percival moved away from the boat, pulling Arthur close to him, Morgana's hand falling back to her side.

Imogen placed her hand on Leon's and pressed down until, too weak to resist, the sword wavered and lowered.

"She is his sister."

"She has been plotting his downfall for years."

"Trust me," Imogen said and put her hand on Percival's back, guiding him to the boat. She touched Arthur's forehead, pinched his wrist between her fingers. "You must hurry," she said to Morgana. "I won't be far behind."

Morgana nodded and Percival lowered Arthur into the boat, his head cradled in his sister's lap. As the boat moved away from the dock, Percival shook his head in disbelief.

"She will kill him," he said dully.

"She will help save him."

"How can he be saved? The blow… Mordred brought his sword down on his head."

"While there is life there is hope, my friend."

Percival gritted his teeth and scrubbed at his eyes with one filthy, blood-stained hand.

"I cannot watch," he said, backing away until he was back on the shore. "Forgive me, but I cannot watch him leave us."

Leon reached for Imogen's hand and they watched as Percival walked slowly away from them and was lost in the darkness of the forest. Soon they were alone, with only the lapping of the water. The slap of the oars had faded.

"And what of Albion?" Leon asked after a moment.

"That is lost. For now," she sighed, going to pull her hand free from his, but he tightened his grip and wouldn't let her go.

"For now?"

"He will return. Merlin is waiting for him, as I said."

"And you?"

"I will go with Arthur."

"And leave me?" he reached again to cup her face and his voice dropped to a tender whisper.

He had never spoken before. But she had always known, or at least suspected, that he had loved her all this time. She curled her hands about the hand that cupped her cheek and shook her head.

"I must, Leon."

"My God, Imogen," he said, his voice bitter and hoarse. "I wish you had loved me rather than Merlin."

She grabbed at his hand as he pulled it away from her face and kissed his palm. There was grey in his beard and his hair had thinned across the crown. But he was still a handsome man, he had always been so. And a good man too, a man any woman would be lucky to have. But he was not Merlin.

"Leon…"

"What have I to show for all these years?" he asked, shifting the weight off his injured leg. "I have followed a king that I have placed in the hands of his enemies. My friends are dead or lost. Now you are to leave me too. If I had known that you would fall in love with Merlin, I would not have run the day I carried you to Gaius."

She moved closer to him and for one mad moment he thought that she might – finally – kiss him. But she did not. Instead she used the edge of her cloak, pressed firmly against his chest, to clean the dirt and gore from his chest plate to reveal the golden dragon beneath.

"There is work still to do," she said quietly.

"What work? You said yourself – Albion is finished."

"There is hope if only someone will breathe life into it."

"What do you mean?"

She heard the distant slap of oars in water and knew the ferryman was returning for her. Her words tripped over themselves in her haste and her fingers bunched suddenly on his armoured arms. Instinctively he reached out for her and held her gently about the waist. She was still so tiny and he remembered how she had felt in his arms the night he found her at the gates of Camelot, that burning need to protect her.

"Tell everyone you meet of Arthur. Find Percival and ask him to help – everyone must know the tale of Arthur. He was a great king and he will be again. _Once and Future_, Leon, tell them."

"Come with me," he said urgently, seeing the boat emerge from the mist. "We'll tell them together."

"No," she backed away from his clutching hands and shook her head. He advanced, grabbed her tightly by the shoulders and kissed her firmly on the lips. He tasted of blood and sweat, dust and long lost chances.

"Stay," he murmured, as the boat bumped into the dock. "Do not leave me here alone."

"I cannot stay. I can't stay with you."

She took his hands from his arms and pressed them back against his chest. He reached out for her again, but she turned from him and took the hand of the ferryman and stepped into the boat. He watched as the boat dwindled and disappeared, one hand curling around the comfrey in his pocket.

* * *

The novice gave the door a cursory knock and scurried into the room. Gwen stood quickly, breath quickening and sweat prickling under her arms.

"You have news?" she asked urgently.

"Mordred was vanquished, your majesty," the young novice said quickly, casting a look over her shoulder at the door.

"Thank God," Gwen said, closing her eyes. "And Arthur?" The girl hesitated and Gwen felt a chill rush through her. "The King? Please, what news of the King?"

"Some say that he died, your majesty," the girl twisted her fingers together.

"Some say?" Gwen said, clutching the iron bedstead to keep herself on her feet as the floor seemed to tip dizzily beneath her. "And what do others say?"

"That he will return. That he was taken to that place…"

Her mouth snapped shut, as though she had gone too far.

"What place?" the girl shook her head and Gwen snatched hold of her wrist. "What place? Tell me!"

"That terrible pagan place, the Isle…"

"Of the Blessed?" Gwen let go of her wrist and shook her head, hope ebbing away like dirty bathwater. "But that was lost, long ago."

"I heard that the Lady Morgana took him there. And the lady healer."

Gwen swayed on her feet and the girl rushed forward and grasped her beneath her arms and lowered her onto the bed.

"Your majesty? My lady, are you well?" she cast another frightened glance at the door and Gwen pushed her gently away.

"Go. I'm fine. Please, leave me be."

The girl hesitated, but there was the distant sound of heels clipping across the stone floor and in terror the girl wrenched the door open and fled. Breathing heavily, Gwen's fingers flexed and spasmed on the bedstead, her breath ragged. She felt the panic rise; her throat seemed to close up, strangling her cries.

There was a gentle tap on the door and when she looked up, the Mother Superior was peering in at her. Her mouth was tightened in slight disapproval, but her eyes were kind, sympathetic.

"Your majesty, we are going to our prayers. We pray for your husband's soul."

She was clearly hoping that Gwen would wish to join then, but Gwen only nodded and gulped down the horror that rose like bile in her throat as the Mother Superior frowned and closed the door. Gwen sat frozen on the bed for a long moment and then slid to the floor to her knees. She pressed her hands together, the fingers of her right hand worrying her wedding band. She had never prayed before.

"The King is dead, long live the King," she chanted. "The King is dead, long live the King."


	6. The Return of the Queen

_**The End of Albion  
**_**Chapter Six: The Return of the Queen**

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter is set further fifteen years after the death of Arthur.

* * *

"I am here to see Guinevere, who was Queen of Camelot."

The nuns winced; they were not used to such ringing tones in their quiet convent. The Mother Superior shook her head at the old knight.

"She is ill, sir. She will have no visitors."

"She will see me," he replied shortly, leaning heavily on his cane. "I am Sir Leon, I knew her when we were children. I was a knight at her husband's table. She will see me."

The Mother Superior twisted her lips in a way that implied she doubted it very much, but when she returned she nodded and waved him through.

Gwen was in the cell she had lived in since the days after the battle of Camelot. The fifteen years had turned her hair white and sketched more faint, elegant wrinkles across her face. But she was still as beautiful as ever. She appeared to be sleeping and as Leon gazed down at her he wondered what time had done to Imogen.

"Leon?"

He was lowering himself awkwardly into a chair when she spoke. He sank gratefully into the chair, stretched out his leg, the old injury had never really healed well. He rested his hands on the bed and stared at her face. He had hated her for so many years now that he curled his hands away from her questing fingers.

"Leon, is that you?"

She grasped his hand and he felt a sudden flood of the old affection when she opened her great brown eyes and smiled at him. His fingers twitched in hers and he closed his hands about hers with a sigh.

"I never thought I would see you again," she said.

"Nor I you."

She struggled as though trying to sit up and he reached out and clumsily pulled her into a sitting position. She was still smiling up into his face. She had not lost that guileless look, but there was a tautness between her eyebrows that spoke of despair.

"I have heard your tales of Arthur. They have reached even here. They echo in me like dreams."

"The world must know what a king he was," he answered tightly and let her go, folding his hands in his lap.

"Yes," she agreed quietly. "What a king he was."

The anger flooded back. He had told the tales of their love because he could never seem to untangle Arthur from her, even in stories. Deep down he knew it was Mordred that destroyed Camelot, but Mordred was long since dead, taken back by the Druids and buried who knew where. But Gwen was in front of him now and Leon had had years to nurse an impotent fury.

"You destroyed him," he said bitterly. "You and Lancelot. Why, Gwen? Why? I thought you loved him?"

The lines between her eyebrows tightened and she buried her face in her hand. Her shoulders shook as though she was crying.

"I did. I loved him more than anything in all the world. But there were no children," this confession sounded as though it was ripped from her, unwillingly and her eyes brimmed suddenly with tears. "We fought so often about using magic to get children – he wouldn't risk losing me. I came to hate him for that selfishness. And then there was Lancelot who had never refused me anything. Who never could refuse me."

Leon stared at her. She sounded almost bitter at Lancelot's inability to say no to his Queen.

"One mistake, Leon, one small mistake. And I have had years to sit here and think of how I loved Arthur. How he must have died hating me."

Apart from Imogen, Guinevere was the only other woman Leon had ever loved. His old friend. His Queen, even now. Fifteen years was punishment enough.

He reached for her hands and she clutched at them, sliding her fingers slowly through his. He realised with a start that no one had touched her, not even a fingertip graze, in all these years. He had known the same physical loneliness. He had worn the memory of that single kiss with Imogen into rags.

"He loved you. Till the very end. Your name was on his lips before he left for the Isle of the Blessed."

"He went then? I heard he did, but then I heard that he had died. I have longed to know..."

"He went. Imogen swore she would heal him, that one day he would return to us."

Her eyes filled with tears, even as her mouth curled up in a smile.

"Thank you for that. You have brought comfort to a dying woman, old friend."

* * *

He waited like a fool on the bank of the lake, Gwen's body in his arms as once Percival had waited with Arthur. His cane was clutched awkwardly his one hand and his body ached as he wondered if they knew he was there, if anyone would answer his calls.

But soon he heard the slap of oars and squinting through the mist he could see a thin figure in the boat. Too short to be Morgana and his heart leapt in his chest. When she pushed her hood back he felt a slight quiver of fear for she had not aged since he had last seen her – no more lines, no more grey in her hair. As though she had been held in time.

"Gwen?" she said, looking at the body in his arms. "He has been asking for her."

"He's alive?"

She didn't answer, merely stepped aside so that he could lay her body in the boat. She made her one-time Queen comfortable. A pillow beneath her head, a sheet drawn up over her plain dress. She tucked a white curl tenderly back from her face.

"This is an act of great forgiveness, Leon," she said. "To bring her back to Arthur."

"She said she loved him. That she had always loved him, all along."

"Did you ever doubt it?"

"But Lancelot – she…"

"There are more chambers in the human heart, Leon, than you can conceive of. A woman may love a man with all her heart, yet reserve a tiny part of it for someone else."

She met his eyes and he felt as though he stood in a ray of light. He put a hand out for her and with a sad smile she took it and gave it a little shake.

"You have done your duty by your king, Sir Leon. Even here we have heard the tales of the great King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table." She stepped lightly into the boat and let go of Leon's hand as she nodded to the ferryman. "Farewell, Sir Leon of Camelot. I hope we meet again one day, in Albion."

The tears pricked in his eyes as he darted forward along the dock. The boat was pulling away and still she held his eyes as she stood upright in the prow.

"Take me with you," he called. "Take me to my king! Take me with you, Imogen."

But she and the body of his Queen were swallowed in the mist and he saw her no more.

* * *

_**The End.**_


End file.
